In Relation
by SeekerAstria
Summary: As a god, Death the Kid knew he'd grow up differently to his friends and their families. But over time, it seems there are more similarities - and conflicts - than you might imagine.
1. Chapter 1

In Relation

A/N - This is a gift-fic for Rmcwalker, exploring the relationship between Shinigami and Kid and the people around them in Death City. As with _Paternity_, this fic has a running theme but each chapter can be taken as an individual piece.

As I've never written from someone else's (awesome!) prompt before, I guess you could say this a bit of an experiment for me. Hope you enjoy.

I'll be covering other characters and scenarios in future chapters, but we start with a look at Kid and Maka as young children and their respective fathers.

Chapter 1: When Maka meets the 'creepy' boy called Death, their parents end up conflicting too.

Chapter 1

The tower of blocks collapsed with a clatter. Maka didn't seem to be as bothered by this as Spirit, who made much of picking up the brightly-coloured pieces while reassuring his daughter that they could build it again.

Maka's attention, however, had been drawn to the back door that led out into the small garden. While Spirit hunted under the sofa for the last building block, Maka got to her feet and walked out into the garden. Last time she was there, she saw a bird. Maybe it was still there. The neighbours had a dog, but it barked too much.

The sun was bright on this summer morning and its fierce rays were reflected in its expression, teeth bared. Maka grinned up at the face and wandered over to a tree in the corner of the garden. A squirrel darted away at her approach, and the girl giggled to see the small creature run up and around the tree-trunk.

Following the squirrel's motions up into the branches, Maka paused when she noticed a movement on the other side of the fence. She stared up, and found herself looking into a pair of yellow eyes. They blinked at her. For a moment they vanished as the owner moved past the tree. Then Maka realised who she was looking at. The Shinigami, her daddy's Technician, waved one large hand at her in greeting. The other was holding onto a small boy who was sitting on his shoulders, clutching the death god's black hood in both hands.

"Maka! It's good to see you! I didn't realise we'd walked out this far, Kid, did you?"

"No, father." The boy replied, still staring down at Maka. He had to be the funniest boy Maka had ever seen. His hair was black, white, and stripey. His eyes were yellow.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Maka Albarn. It's nice to meet you. What's your name?" Maka answered politely as Mama and Papa had taught her to.

"My name is Death the Kid." The boy replied with equal politeness.

Maka giggled at this. "Your name's Death. Like the Shinigami?" Maka knew this because daddy had told her. Shinigami had lots of names, and one of them was 'Death'. "_Really_?"

"Yes. Really." The boy called Death didn't seem to find this unusual.

Maka didn't know what to say to this. She decided upon another question.

"What's it like up there?"

Kid tightened his grip Shinigami's robes; "It's…nice." He said after a moment.

"I _knew_ he'd like it!" Shinigami said to Maka. "You've been up there from when we left home, haven't you?" He looked to his son, who nodded.

"Hey, Maka, what are you up to?"

Spirit walked out of the living-room door to find his daughter in a rather earnest discussion with Shinigami about the park down the road. Apparently Shinigami had taken Kid out for a walk and wanted to know where to go next. Unfortunately, Kid himself seemed to have been forgotten in this talk, and was peering around from his vantage point on the shoulders of the tall Shinigami. When his gaze found Spirit, he greeted him.

"Good morning, Death Scythe."

"Hi, Kid. Your dad took you into the city again?"

"Yes."

This was all Spirit got for a reaction until Kid saw the block he was still holding after rescuing it from behind the sofa (along with two pounds, a sweet-wrapper, and a pencil).

"Is that Maka's?" Kid's eyes widened as he looked at the red cube.

"Yes..." Spirit answered slowly, baffled as to why a boy whose father read the _Death City Times _to him and was _understood_ would find any interest in simple children's toys.

Kid held out a hand; "May I see it?"

Spirit held the thing out to Kid, who took it in both hands and examined the wooden block carefully.

"It's a perfect cube." He observed.

"Yep. Would you like to see more?" With Shinigami still having some sort of conversation with Maka – the subject had turned to the grinning sun – Kid asked to get down. Shinigami put him on the floor and looked to Death Scythe.

"Spirit, do _you_ think the sun looks cute today?"

"Um." It was the sort of thing Maka came up with from time to time that Spirit didn't know what to say to. "It can. Sometimes." Kami would probably slap him with something for giving such an uninspired answer.

Kid, meanwhile, had found the remaining building blocks. A pattern was fast forming amongst the colourful cubes. Leaving Maka and Shinigami to their own devices, Spirit joined the boy who was crouched on the rug dividing the blocks by colour.

"Need a hand?"

Kid's fingers pointed out each of the groups in turn, lips moving soundlessly. "Is there a fourth red one? There are four of all the others."

"Um…here!" Spirit rummaged in the toy-box (given to Maka by his own parents) and pulled out the missing block.

"Thank-you!" With a smile not often seen on the little death god's face, Kid added the red piece to its fellows and began to, well, _organise_.

From any other child, Spirit would have thought they were merely a bit precocious, which Kid undoubtedly was. But with his father he couldn't help but wonder just how Kid had acquired such a talent. Spirit watched as a tower was built, sets of four on top of one another, not very high, but certainly precise.

"That's really good, Kid."

The boy nodded at this compliment, adding "_Perfect_."

Spirit turned as he felt someone tug at his sleeve. Maka stood beside him, gazing at the newly-built structure.

"It's great, isn't it, Maka?" Spirit asked.

"Hmm…" Maka didn't seem too sure, and she paced around the blocks for a moment, almost reaching out for one, but pulling back in the knowledge that it would be 'bad' to mess up the funny boy's tower.

"I put all the colours in order." Kid stated simply. "You see? The red, the yellow, then the green and blue." Maka didn't respond, though it seemed she was itching to do so.

"You don't agree, Maka?" Shinigami had come into the room.

"You did it wrong. " The little girl said finally, and promptly removed a few of the blocks, mixing the green and blue to Kid's obvious displeasure. Having been sitting with an air of quiet satisfaction at his achievement, he now got up and stamped his foot impetuously.

"Hey! You're ruining it!"

"They're mine. It's _fun_ like this!" Maka insisted, now rearranging the entire group with a gleeful smile. But as she did so one block slipped from her hands, causing the entire thing to tumble to the floor once more.

Kid stared, open-mouthed at the destruction. He looked over at Maka who was busily putting the pieces back in their box, having apparently decided she was done with them for now.

"You…just…" Kid stammered, aghast.

"Now, now, Kid…not everyone likes things so neat, you know." Shinigami said calmly, placing a restraining hand on the boy's shoulder as he started towards Maka.

"They are her toys, Kid." Spirit piped up, mildly alarmed by the boy's reaction. "You're welcome to play with them too, but please don't upset Maka."

Kid scowled at Maka and stamped his foot once more. "Silly girl." He stated. "Stupid." Whether it was the words themselves, or the aggressive aura now emanating from the boy's soul wavelength, Maka's bottom lip trembled at this.

It was a reminder to Spirit that smart though Kid might be, he was still only a child. Maka latched onto her father's arm, and as he crouched down to hug her Spirit sighed at the fact the simple little encounter had turned out so badly so quickly.

"Papa, he's creepy…" Maka muttered, burying her head against his shirt. Spirit stroked her hair calmly, choosing to ignore Kid and Shinigami for the moment. It was totally irrational for him to be angry at Kid for some weird habit, and especially for a volatile soul wavelength he couldn't control, that Maka was clearly responding to on some level.

Yet Spirit was equally annoyed with Shinigami for just _standing there_ watching his son upset a girl who'd done nothing more than disagree, as children were wont to do with their peers. Or so Kami had said, but she'd never seen her daughter and the little death god interact. Maka sniffed and risked a look over at Kid, whose annoyed expression had not changed.

Shinigami watched his Weapon move to his daughter's side and looked to Kid who was still glowering at Maka without a hint of remorse at his hurtful words. Shinigami found Kid's order habit a little perplexing and amusing, but had had few occasions to see how other people thought of it. Thus the day had turned into quite the learning experience for both of them. Kid had managed to alienate a young Death City child whilst displaying his fixations, while his father had managed to annoy his Weapon and realise that his son's behaviour was potentially distressing to anybody who wasn't Shinigami. Clearly Shinigami had more to learn about how Kid should act around people than he had previously thought.

It wasn't even as though Shinigami had many human parents around, and no-one who had any idea of how to raise a young shinigami who appeared human out of necessity more than anything else. Was there even a 'proper' way, really? And of all the people his lack of experience could have ended up upsetting... For this reason, Shinigami did not look forward to seeing Spirit at Shibusen the next morning. There were many things the pair agreed or could compromise on, but the happiness of Albarn's daughter was naturally not one of them. Someone with his Death Scythe's personality, Shinigami had found, could get upset over small things rather too easily. But now wasn't the time to argue.

Shinigami took Kid by the hand, saying "Come along, Kid. I think it's best we leave, right?" He gave Spirit an apologetic look, receiving only a blank gaze in return.

"Yeah. That's a good idea, sir." Spirit agreed, adding the formal epithet reluctantly.

---

Spirit was standing in the Death Room when Shinigami arrived, Kid walking behind him with a book in his hands. Kid saw Albarn and looked away hurriedly, heading towards the mirror where he sat down and began to read.

"Good morning, Spirit." Shinigami opened the conversation with something that couldn't be construed as hostile. He certainly didn't want an argument with the man, but feared that yesterday's issue had set him up for a confrontation of some sort.

"Morning." Spirit turned to face the god wearily.

"Spirit…it seems I owe you an apology for yesterday." Shinigami held up his hands. To his surprise, Spirit rejected this admission.

"Not your fault. Or Kid's. It annoyed me, sure, that Maka got upset like that, but…I shouldn't assume you knew how to handle things like that. I _know_ it doesn't come easily to you. God knows it doesn't come easy to me either!"

He chuckled ruefully, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

The two fathers did have their disagreements, but neither would deny that they had helped one another out in the new and scary territory of parenting. It just didn't go well, however, when said participants were a god and a man whose own self-doubt was frequently sent into over-drive when it came to the welfare of his wife and daughter. The Shinigami and his Death Scythe were the two most powerful beings in Death City, and were both eminently capable in their own ways. Considering their positions, an outsider might find such an obstacle as fatherhood absurd or trivial for them. They could not have been further from the truth.

"That said, sir, I have to ask…" Spirit began but paused unsure of himself.

"Go on." Shinigami prompted, for he trusted the man's opinion and didn't want to drag this disagreement out any longer.

"Are you _sure_ Kid's doing all right? I know you've not got much to go on when it comes to, well, young shinigami, but that order thing seems unusual."

Shinigami sighed at this and considered the man's words. Thinking he'd been misunderstood, Spirit hastened to clarify.

"I mean, seeing as he's _your_ son I would've expected to see something, you know, death god-like, not organising toys or making his bedroom symmetrical."

The last had been a shock to Spirit, who had visited Gallows Mansion the other day to find that the contents of Kid's bedroom had doubled in number for the sake of symmetry. In Spirit's mind, at least, he had reason to be concerned; he cared about Kid in his own way. But Shinigami might see things differently, as he so often did when it came to his offspring.

"I think Kid just likes to be neat. It helps him understand the world. Hopefully he will grow out of it before it impacts on anything seriously important. I shall keep an eye on it."

Last night Spirit would have taken issue with the implication that Maka was anything less than "seriously important", but this morning his temper had eased and he knew what Shinigami was getting at. The world had no need for a Kishin, but nor did it want an obsessive Death. The succinct answer was likely all he was going to get.

"I know you will." He accepted quietly, smiling.

Shinigami patted Spirit on the shoulder with a broad hand, "Well, I'm glad we could clear-"

Spirit frowned as Shinigami stopped talking. His blank mask seemed to gaze at the Weapon, who knew that the god was looking at something much further away. Something, or someone, had crossed into the boundary of Death City, and meant no good at all.

"What is it?"

"Magic. Not a witch. Something else."

"Could be an animal?" Spirit suggested, knowing that there were some inhuman magic-users who used their powers for little more than harmless entertainment. Then again, it would have to be something especially strong to have alerted Shinigami like that. Shinigami shook his head firmly. "No. This is too threatening."

Spirit straightened up, knowing what needed to be done. "Where is it? Henrikson and Zhang are on duty, I'll send them out." He said, referring to one of the selection of three-star teams who were dispatched to any low- or moderate-level kishin activity inside the city that didn't require the Death Scythe's attention.

Shinigami was about to agree, when a sound behind him caused him to turn. Kid had dropped his book to the floor and was sitting quite still, staring ahead of him with a terrified expression. Shinigami hurried over to his son worriedly.

"Kid, what's wrong?"

"There's something out there. Something that shouldn't be." Kid balled his hands into fists and rubbed them against his head as though he was trying to chase out the bad soul himself.

"I know. I felt it too. Don't be scared, now, we'll get rid of it." Shinigami took Kid's hands in his trying to distract him from the soul's presence.

"Damn. Why is he feeling it? His wavelength's no way near that strong yet!" Spirit joined Shinigami, upset at seeing Kid so distressed.

"It doesn't need to be," Shinigami explained, as Kid rocked back and forth whimpering softly in his fear "his soul perception can fluctuate a lot." Whispering softly to the boy, Shinigami put an arm around his shoulders. This was, it occured to Spirit, something "death god-like" that Shinigami knew how to deal with.

"Now, you remember what we said last time? You remember your book, right?" He picked up the thin volume and pressed it into Kid's hands. The boy nodded, eyes focussing on the open pages. "You were reading from the first chapter, yes," Shinigami continued, not knowing where Kid had gotten to but realising that he needed to have his attention on something physical and close to him.

Spirit watched the blank fear fade from Kid's eyes as he clasped the book in both hands and began to read again. He was still trembling a bit, but the pain seemed to have eased now he had the book to focus on, and for this Spirit was somewhat reassured.

"I'm going to get Henrikson."

He insisted as Shinigami remained at Kid's side.

"No need. Kid, you'll stay here and read for now, okay? Don't leave until Death Scythe and I get back." The words were an order, not a suggestion, spoken in the deep, grim tone Shinigami took when being especially serious.

Rising, Shinigami turned to his Weapon.

"What, you're _leaving _him?" Spirit was surprised, and made no attempt to hide the fact.

"He's calm for now, and having someone else around would only disturb him more. He will not move, as I told him not to. Besides, Sid and Mira know he's here." Shinigami headed swiftly for the door and Spirit matched his pace.

"We don't need to do this ourselves!" Albarn was adamant, unhappy that Shinigami would leave Kid alone, whatever his reasoning, but complained in a fierce undertone knowing that Kid was still within earshot.

"Yes, Spirit, we do. It might not just be down to Kid's wavelength that he sensed this intrusion; it could be something more powerful. It is best for us to handle this personally." Shinigami's tone brokered no argument, but Spirit was unhindered.

"And you _might_ want to take this thing out because Kid got hurt?"

"Yes. I might just want that."

Hearing this cold answer, Spirit was reminded that it was a foolish thing for one to fight out of anger alone, but he felt a surge of rage and anticipation at the coming battle, brief though it would likely be. There would be no compromise, no mercy in death. There never was.

In a flurry of shadows Technician and Weapon disappeared from Shibusen's corridor and arrived in a path heading out of the city, two powerful souls seeking their prey. Neither Shinigami or Spirit knew what the future would bring, whether for their work or their children. There was one thing they knew: that their duty was to protect the world, and those they loved within it, from chaos. And _that_ responsibility, and all it entailed, they knew very well indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Shinigami has an audience with the great Black Star, which gives him an idea. Spirit worries, as per usual, as Mira Nygus continues to handle a mission's unexpected result. Kid decides he doesn't like scythes.

Spoilers – This chapter contains slight spoilers of chapter 54 of the manga, and speculations on its events.

Chapter 2

"Are you _sure_ about this?"

Someone had to ask the question, and Spirit Albarn had long since resigned himself to the fact that he would be the one to do so. After all, no-one else in the Shibusen faculty was very willing to ask just why Shinigami had decided to take in a child of the Star Clan. The still fairly new Death Scythe reckoned it fell to him, as Shinigami's Weapon and a fellow parent, to make sure his eccentric Technician knew what the heck he could be letting himself in for. Frankly, Spirit didn't particularly mind; Black Star needed to be looked after by someone and the little boy deserved a loving family, what child didn't? Even so, Spirit was wary as he once again brought up a familiar subject with Shinigami.

"What other option is there?" The god replied, as he had done on several occasions before. "We can't give him up to a human city; he has great potential as a Technician. Amongst…other things."

"Exactly. It's all very well when he was a baby, but he's growing up. And there are plenty of people in this city who suffered because of the Star Clan. People will judge him for it; it'll be no good for him."

Spirit insisted a little hotly, concern over the boy's history overtaken by some paternal instinct to defend one who couldn't help who his parents were. No-one could change _that_, of course, but Black Star's past was more ominous than most.

"You don't need to remind me, Spirit. Where ever the child is, he will face difficulty. Shibusen, Death City is the best place for him; he can grow and learn our rules and way of life. I believe he can thrive here. What we must all be aware of is that his father's sins in no way predetermine Black Star's _own_ path." Shinigami tapped the base of his mask thoughtfully, tilting his head in contemplation.

And such an opinion had brought the Star Clan child to where he was today, having been raised by Shibusen. Shinigami often checked up on Black Star, feeling an understandable sense of obligation towards him. But almost every time he saw the child, he was disappointed to see that the question of his soul remained (whether Spirit brought it up or not). Shinigami knew better than to assume that Black Star was _bound_ to seek the Kishin's path, but he had never before encountered a child born of eggs-of-kishin of any kind. The Star men and women had retained their humanity to an extent, but what effect if any their corrupted and corrupting souls could have on their child was simply unknown.

The fact remained that he was the son of White Star, a man whose lust for power – whatever the initial motivation – had led him and his clansmen so far down the path of the Kishin that it had taken a force made up of Shibusen's strongest teams, Spirit amongst them, to eliminate them. It was a tragedy. No-one involved in that conflict would call it anything less. And one simple fact had made it all the more worse, for not a bit of Shibusen's reconnaissance had revealed that the Clan had a child in their midst. Technicians and Weapons alike had gone to the settlement to kill. They had not suspected for a moment that one pair, Syd Barrett and Mira Nygus would discover a baby. A baby, who under the often erratic but well meaning care of the partners and the Shibusen staff, had grown into a sturdy, energetic boy of five. Well, 'energetic' might be a bit of an understatement…

The quiet atmosphere of the Death Room was broken by a crash. Spirit took a step backwards as he was rushed at by a small, green-haired figure with his arms out-stretched. Black Star veered around the Weapon and circled the mirror, all the while making the noises of what Spirit supposed from his gestures was meant to be an aeroplane. Shinigami watched the performance, nonplussed.

"Sorry to interrupt!" Mira Nygus hurried up behind Black Star, "he saw a plane outside. He's got it in his head to, um, fly… Hey, hey get off that!" Black Star was balancing precariously with one foot on the top of a cross. He swayed, and would have fallen if Nygus hadn't made to grab him, catching the boy before he could hit the floor.

"Good morning, Black Star!" Shinigami greeted the boy from his mirror, waving happily.

"Mornin'!" Black Star replied, hanging awkwardly from Mira's arms as she put him back on his feet.

"Tell me, Black Star, do you like Shibusen?" Shinigami leant forward eagerly.

"Yep! Mira's nice, an' Sid's funny! And…they give me chocolate."

"I see." Shinigami nodded, as though satisfied. "Mira tells me you run around a lot, and Sid's been teaching you how to fight?"

Black Star responded by straightening up and, with remarkable dexterity for one so small, pulling off a series of kicks and punches in neat succession.

"Y'huh. You see? You see that?!"

Shinigami and Mira clapped politely;

"Really good!"

"Great!"

"Do you like to fight, Black Star?" Spirit asked.

The boy's already bright grin widened. "Yup. I'm going to be strong."

"Um. Any reason _why_?" Shinigami wondered as Spirit side-stepped Black Star's continued practice that was coming a little too close for comfort.

"Cos."

"'Cos'?" Shinigami repeated.

"Sid's strong. Mira's strong, _Shinigami_ is strong…" Black Star paused in his would-be attack of the Death Scythe to tick the names off on his fingers. "So, the great Black Star needs to be really, really strong too!"

"I don't think there's a _need_ for it." Mira opined gently, silently acknowledging the 'great' that had slipped into the boy's vocabulary of late. Every bit of the child's life seemed aimed, in a haphazard childish way, to be based around this new notion of strength and greatness. Too young to have a real aim in mind, Black Star had nevertheless found something to work towards. It was the sort of thing Sid often wished his students would express in their work. Beside the nurse and his Weapon, Shinigami smiled, having come to a decision.

"Now, now, Mira! It is good for a boy to have a goal. You're doing very well, Black Star. I am _very_ pleased with you." Shinigami put his hands together as he spoke, nodding emphatically to the fierce little soul.

The words seemed to break through Black Star's zeal and he stopped, for a moment looking up with pride and delight at the Shinigami. Then it vanished, replaced by a determined scowl that in a few years could almost look intimidating. He poked a thumb to his chest.

"Of course I'll do well! _I'm _Black Star!"

---

"Well, _that_ was something." Shinigami said once Nygus and Black Star had left.

"He sounds very happy. Enthusiastic." Spirit agreed.

"Yup, doesn't he?! You know what, Spirit?"

"What's that, sir?" Spirit responded, pointlessly because he already knew the answer.

"_I _think he's going to do well here. Black Star wants to be strong; that's always a good trait – in moderation – for Technicians."

After saying goodbye to Shinigami, Spirit walked away shaking his head. Only five and Shinigami was already seeing Black Star as a Shibusen student? He was glad he had years to wait until that became an issue for Maka, even as her natural curiosity at this age led her to wonder what her mummy and daddy did for a living ("kill monsters" wasn't quite the sort of thing you could say at school, even if it _was_ in Death City). Frankly, the idea of having a Technician as a daughter scared Spirit.

He knew from experience how dangerous the work of Shinigami's agents could be, how fractious and demanding the relationship between a Technician and Weapon was in the early stages. At least if Maka was a Weapon there was something practical he could teach her in the process of transformation, the elements of a Weapon soul, but genetics had robbed him of that simple connection. Even if she became a Technician, Maka would remain in her Spirit's eyes his little girl. He wasn't sure he could face the responsibility. Mira would find her own way to deal with her child (as Black Star surely was, in a sense), and Spirit just hoped he'd find out how to help his own.

---

Spirit grimaced as his blade smacked to the floor once more. It had been Shinigami's idea, of course. No-one else would have suggested giving a Weapon to a five-year old, even a five-year old god. Alas, here Death Scythe was being inexpertly wielded by Death the Kid. Actually, 'wielded' was too generous a term. Thus far Kid had only managed to lift Spirit, something that he wondered at seeing as even with suitable soul resonance he was no lightweight in Weapon form.

"It's traditional, you know!" Shinigami said as he placed Kid's hands in the right position along the scythe's shaft.

"Yeah. Who was the Death Scythe before me? Andrew was a sword, right?" Spirit pointed out this discrepancy wryly. That said, having been born a Scythe in his family he'd never gotten away as a child from the death allusions bound up in the very form. That and farming. The fact his own father was a historian who specialised in Weaponry didn't help… His musing was cut off as he was swung once more, this time with a pretty decent aim, though it was less down to Kid then the fact Shinigami was guiding the route of the Weapon that was several times Kid's size.

"Let me try again, on my own!" Kid said. In his 'space', Spirit shrugged;

"Fine. Just take it _carefully_, okay?"

Kid walked some way from Shinigami across the Death Room. Spirit knew he was being dragged behind the boy, which not a good sign. Matching the child's soul wavelength hadn't been a problem – it had stabilised completely over recent moths, and now practically resembled that of any other child, as more or less did his level of soul perception. It also helped that Spirit had become familiar with Shinigami's own soul, and knew the nuances that made it similar and at the same time so different to that of a human. These traits, Kid's own soul shared. Without that in mind, Spirit would never have agreed to this test, and indeed Shinigami would not have suggested it.

Kid paused for a moment. If Shinigami didn't know better, he'd say his son was going through the process more diligent students did; of collecting his thoughts so as to resonate more comfortably with his Weapon. It was helpful in most disciplines within Shibusen, and not just combat. In reality, the boy was just nervous. He'd never wielded any sort of Weapon before, and the fact his first was a scythe, a tool emblematic of death in many cultures was probably unnerving him. But Shinigami had trust in Spirit, and knew that if the resonance wavered at any point he would sever the connection between the two to avoid causing Kid harm.

This had all come from the meeting with Black Star the other day. If he knew what he wanted to do at that age, Shinigami thought, why shouldn't Kid? Unlike the Star boy, Kid already _had_ a predetermined place in the world; he was born that way. And Shinigami had decided it would be good to teach him about it early. He watched as Kid straightened up, carefully positioning Death Scythe over one shoulder and managing to do so through a combination of his unnatural strength and Spirit's ability to control his soul wavelength on a minute level.

Kid felt the scythe between his hands. With a blade at one end, Death Scythe was hardly as 'neat' as Kid would have liked, but he didn't mind; father had seemed so eager, and Kid wanted to learn from him. The scythe seemed oddly familiar, which was odd in itself - he didn't know father's Weapon that well. But he felt he had used such a thing before, to take the souls of living things, to kill, to defend humankind. He felt as though he had done so a multitude of times over countless years. And this was funny to Kid, because he knew he was only little. Father said so a lot.

Keeping his hands in the grip father had shown him, Kid swung Death Scythe round, the black blade making a satisfying swishing sound as it cut through the air. Once was quite enough for Kid's small arms, however, and just as the boy thought it was going really quite well…his hands slipped. Taken aback by the unexpected force with which he'd been swung, Spirit found himself clattering across the Death Room floor until he had the presence of mind to transform before he damaged something. Landing in a crouch, he looked back to Kid who stood panting slightly some feet away from him.

"How…was it?" Kid asked Shinigami, who was clapping happily.

"Very good, Kid! You've definitely got the idea."

"I think I've done that before." Kid said quietly.

Spirit got up, straightening his tie.

"Well, we practiced a bit before, but let's leave it there, huh?" He didn't want to risk the boy hurting himself, and hoped one near-success was good enough for Shinigami.

"No. I mean _before_." Kid began, but stopped with his head on one side, rather like the pose Shinigami took when he was thinking;

"Never mind."

---

"He remembers." Shinigami sighed, signing the final piece of paperwork of the evening whilst not really paying attention to its contents.

"You think so?" Spirit was more cautious on today's Weapon practice with Kid, deciding that just because the boy seemed to think he'd wielded a scythe before – living or otherwise – it didn't necessarily mean what Shinigami seemed to think. All children had imaginations, after all.

"There was always the risk, of course. But for him to recall such a thing…" Shinigami sighed once more, his mask reflecting his concern.

"You can't be sure. And even if he's 'remembering' stuff you've done, couldn't it be helpful for Kid? You let him use me today because you want him to learn about being a death god. If he understands it through his genes…isn't that something?"

It was rather a pithy suggestion, and Spirit wasn't sure he believed it himself. Kid was, in a way, created from Shinigami's own soul and certainly shared his power.

The three white lines on his hair were testament to that fact, the indelible connection between father and son that would one day ensure that Death walked the earth once more. The lives and destinies of both were linked. To someone of a poetic mindset, it would seem quite neat. To Spirit Albarn, it was merely depressing and he tried not to think about it too often.

"I suppose..." Shinigami shared his Weapon's uncertainty. He looked to Kid who had fallen asleep in a chair that was far too large for him. Picking the child up in one huge hand, Shinigami headed towards the door of the Death Room.

Walking through Death City had always been a curious experience for Shinigami. The citizens often regarded him with awe and respect, though some had little of either for the god. He tended to respond to those politely enough, for he did not think a few detractors were worth getting worked up about. Now, at night, he sensed the few animal souls that fled from his presence as he walked. Others, such as cats watched him with the same bland expressions their ancestors had once regarded him with. Shinigami liked cats because they weren't as bothered by him as other creatures were.

"Father?" Kid had woken up, and blinked sleepily up at his father.

"Hmm?"

"I liked it today."

Shinigami smiled inwardly.

"Did you now? You did very well for a first try! I'm proud of you, Kid."

Kid considered his words for a moment, and then nodded as though satisfied. Before Shinigami could say anything else, Kid had closed his eyes once more. After a moment, he added;

"I _liked_ it, but…"

Shinigami stopped as he reached the door of Gallows Mansion.

"But?"

"I don't want to use Death Scythe again. He felt funny."

"That's to be expected. You've never used a Weapon before, and I know how you like things to be symmet- neat and tidy." Shinigami assured.

"No, not like that. I mean it was like…it wasn't the first time I'd done it. _And_ he's not neat." Kid agreed.

"I see…" Shinigami said, not entirely sure that he did.

"Well, you're a shinigami, so you don't need to have a Weapon. We have…other ways of defending ourselves. Today was just a test to see if you could use a Weapon." Actually, Shinigami having the odd traditional quirk, it had been a test to see if Kid liked to used a _scythe_.

"Maybe…maybe I won't." Kid muttered, half to himself, before sighing and closing his eyes once more to sleep.

---

Regardless of Spirit telling him that the episode was just Kid being nervous, or imagining things that weren't there Shinigami was unsurprised that, when Kid eventually decided that he wanted to raise a Weapon for himself, scythes were something he had absolutely no interest in. Not that he'd admit it to his son, but in a way the elder Death was slightly disappointed…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - It's probably come to your attention by now that I update erratically. Even if I decide to set a plan for updating stories, I invariably fail to meet them due to time constraints, writer's block, etc. Nevertheless, here we are with chapter three.

- A boy experiments, a teacher tries to do his job, and a father watches on with pride and, perhaps, concern: "the child only _looks _human".

Chapter 3

Something about daylight took all scariness out of places like this, Death the Kid mused. Not that any graveyard held much fear for him, of course. He sat on a bench in the far corner, and a multitude of grave-markers, some simple others ornate, stretched out before him. The place was characteristic of many of Death City's graveyards. Kid knew such places well. His father had brought him to graveyards to learn more about being a shinigami. So far, the eight year-old had learnt that graveyards were typically empty of souls, but full of the tell-tale signs – imperceptible to humans – that the dead inhabited the land. He had felt death, had smelt and tasted it. It was everything Kid knew he was, but couldn't quite understand.

And yet, a graveyard was simple to him; neat and tidy as everything should be. Kid found the place itself comforting as a whole, even as its haphazard layout made him twitch occasionally at the chaos of it. Other children might have gone to a park, or to buy sweets with pocket-money. Kid had just wanted to get outside. His tutor hadn't objected strongly, having not quite come to terms with his student. Kid hadn't had much experience with Death City's schools (the few days he had attended the primary school had ended in disaster), but he was pretty sure that teachers weren't supposed to be _afraid_ of their pupils.

For this reason, the boy was able to do as he pleased much of the time, on the understanding that he met his father's current expectations. Shinigami was very clear on the subject; he wanted Kid to have an education and life like other children. Or, at least as close to that as Kid could get under the circumstances. One would not find many friends in a graveyard, for example. Nor several of the other places Kid frequented, like Shibusen's library with its symmetrical beauty, or the times he'd wandered to the city limits, curious of what lay beyond the seemingly endless desert.

At this thought, Kid decided to practice a experiment he'd recently embarked on. Though Mr Hollis would be annoyed if Kid was out too long, he could easily say to father that it was 'research'. He'd leave the graveyard first though.

---

The skateboard itself had not been a problem for Kid. He had a tendency to persist in subjects that interested him, and skateboarding had been one of them. Father had been delighted Kid had taken an interest in a pastime human boys had, even if it had led to Kid breaking things inside and outside of the house until he got his head round how to manoeuvre and, perhaps most importantly, stop. In the process, Kid had managed to cause more damage to things around him than he had to himself.

At the moment, Kid had no intention of letting father know what he was planning next for his Beelzebub. He only rarely kept things from his father, but he knew from experience that Shinigami took being a death god very seriously, and probably would not like Kid playing around. Such as, for example, summoning his skateboard.

Kid frowned at his hand as he watched the black-blue shadows swirl around it in skull-shaped waves. Most of his attempts at summoning Beelzebub had started and ended like this, with Kid drawing on his other-than human abilities resulting in little more than a funny light show. Originally, Kid had found it curious that becoming over-emotional or particularly focussed on something created these weird skulls. Shinigami had told him it was simply part of his soul wavelength, and nothing to be worried about. Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to convince the headmistress of the primary school of this fact, which had led to Shinigami giving up the idea of having Kid be educated with his peers. Shadows were one thing, but a class of five-year olds seeing shadows breaking an untidy desk was another. Kid had spent the next day in the smallest room in Gallows Mansion that had no furniture, briefly convinced that he was, as several children had pointed out, a "scary monster". The shadows rarely made a violent appearance after that.

Kid pictured Beelzebub in his mind, the board and its wheels, the two skulls decorating the underside. It was at home, and he wanted it here. _Here_. There was a sense of motion, and the shadows flared in response to Kid's command. To his delight, the skateboard materialised before his hand, and slid neatly to the ground in front of him.

Looking around to make sure he hadn't been spotted, Kid mounted the skateboard, and headed back towards the city centre, satisfaction making him go far faster than was necessary. The success would be worth any punishment from Mr. Hollis for being late for lessons.

---

He skidded to a halt outside Gallows Mansion some minutes later. Picking Beelzebub up – he hadn't figured out how to put it back where he'd summoned it from – Kid opened the door to reveal two figures. One, the worried face of Mr Hollis, and the second the simple mask of the Shinigami.

"Ah, Kid! Welcome back!" For some reason, Kid could be away from his father for no time at all and still have this kind of happy greeting on his return. Hollis was anything but welcoming.

"Death the Kid. You skipped your lesson again." His stern glare would have struck fear into the heart of any other boy. Kid looked back nonplussed.

"I was doing research."

"On your skateboard?"

"Yes."

Hollis opened his mouth to say just what he thought of _that_, but didn't get the chance. Shinigami took the board from Kid's unresisting hand and examined it, turning it this way and that.

"Still in one piece. And so are you. The research was okay, then?" Shinigami handed Beelzebub back to his son, apparently satisfied.

"Yes, father." Kid replied, glad that he'd managed to get past this discussion safely.

Joseph Hollis walked into the living-room with two cups of tea on a tray. It was a sign of his nervousness that he had delayed their talk about Kid by offering to make tea. Hollis himself didn't like the stuff, and he didn't want to think about how the masked god drank _anything _with a body that, from some angles, looked paper-thin. It was his morbid curiosity of that sort which had convinced the well-to-do tutor (he took the description as a compliment) this job would be the death of him.

"A skateboard, sir? I hardly think it's an appropriate kind of 'research', regardless of what master Kid thought he was doing."

"I disagree." Maybe to prolong his employee's discomfort, Shinigami took a long sip of tea before explaining himself.

"You won't have seen it, but that thing had traces of Kid's soul wavelength on it. He's experimenting, and I think it's a good thing."

"His...soul." Hollis hadn't been a Shibusen student, having had married into this strange world of wavelengths, demonic influences and the like. He licked his lips and drank some more tea in an effort to hide his confusion.

"Oh, dear, that's it isn't it?" Shinigami put his cup down and clapped his hands, the sharp sound causing Joseph to spill tea onto the table. The god leant forward causing Hollis to become transfixed by the mask's two eye holes. Even this close, he could see no face behind it. "The child was human", he could fool himself with that much. He'd told himself that from the day he'd applied for the job. This had quickly been amended to; "the child _looks_ human", which had its own small comforts. The father, on the other hand...

"I'm afraid this is my fault, Mr. Hollis."

Hollis couldn't reply, having been suddenly struck – not for the first time – by who actually paid his salary. "Good grief," He'd say to his ex-Technician wife, "I'm working for a god!". Maybe he'd not truly realised it until now.

"You see, I brought you here because I wanted Kid to have a teacher. He needs to know about the world. I tried putting him in school, but it didn't work out. But you can't teach him everything. I suppose I should have been clearer on that." He tapped his mask thoughtfully with one finger.

"Well, no, I wouldn't presume to teach him everything!" Hollis felt obliged to defend his position. He knew his job, after all.

"Not at all. But there are things Kid needs to learn himself. He's a death god, and there's only me and him around now. There are plenty of people who would like to take advantage of Kid. He's not old enough to defend himself yet."

"I don't suppose you could explain those things to me?" Reminding himself silently that his former pupils weren't threatened by nameless enemies, Hollis took the opportunity to gain greater understanding. Shinigami had the good grace to at least appear to be considering the request.

"Hmm...no. I don't think so. I've given you your role and I don't feel like changing it."

"And...today?" Hollis persisted lamely, hoping to salvage some facts from this conversation.

"Oh, it's quite simple." Shinigami made Hollis jump by clapping his hands once more. The fortunately now empty teacup dropped from his hands.

"A shinigami's soul is far more adaptable than a human's. There are skills we can draw on to alter certain things. Objects, for example. Kid is very attached to that Beelzebub of his. To me, it makes perfect sense that he'd use it to put his abilities into practice."

Hollis sighed in relief, for this explanation made far more sense than he'd been expecting, and was certainly more mundane. The child was, after all, a deathgod. There were _definitely_ worse things he could be practising.

---

Kid swerved around the tree and headed back towards the wall. It was getting easier now, controlling Beelzebub on his own. It seemed to react to his thoughts as well as his motions, instinct having occasionally saved him from some nasty falls. And, at other times, having led to then as when Kid stopped too quickly, flinging himself face-first into the grass. He had _even_, and he hardly dared to believe it, got it to hover. He knew that shinigami could fly, as he'd seen father do so a couple of times. He hadn't managed himself, though not for want of trying. The moment Kid had felt his skateboard leave the solid earth, he decided it would be a suitable alternative. For now. Looking to the grey sky, he wondered just how high he could get...

One upshot of his dedication to this 'research' was that it did, for a time, temper Kid's other habits. He had not, for example, really been bothered by the streets of Death City as he had headed home, and had sped past cafes with chairs upturned on tables, broken fences and a florists with a sign reading 'E H OWERS'. Kid had intended to stop as he reached the far wall of the mansion's back garden. He did not expect to notice the mass of leaves that had been left, untended, around the trees. But as he did so his attention wavered, and he began to weave uncertainly towards his goal, head turned back towards the leaves that really did need to be swept up. For this reason, Kid did not see the wall rushing up towards him, did not have time to check his speed or turn as Beelzebub's wheels clattered along the flagstones. Instead, he flung out his hands and closed his eyes, awaiting the crash against the hard wall. It never came.

A blue light surrounding him, Kid found himself levitating up and _over_ the wall that was taller than he was. Eyes closed, he didn't see the spectacle but felt it as the ground lurched away from him. Beelzebub's wheels scratched the top of the wall, depositing its rider onto the grass some feet below. Kid heard yelling from passers-by as, dazed, he got to his feet. A blurry minute past until Kid noticed the dirt smearing his shirt. Successfully ignoring the urge to remove the offending garment – it wouldn't do in public – he turned to head back into the house, thoughts of flying forgotten. He wasn't sure he had another shirt the same colour in his wardrobe.

---

Shinigami heard the crash and the cries that followed, not from Kid but from the people around who were obviously startled to see a small child fall over a wall on a skateboard. Leaving the teacups where they were – Hollis had left, for the moment satisfied with what Shinigami had eventually explained – Shinigami headed out. Kid pushed the front door open just as his father reached it.

Most parents wouldn't look twice at a child having a couple of grazes or a muddy shirt. It was, to them, the sort of thing to be expected. Shinigami, on the other hand, had had time enough to understand the way his son thought. Dirt was not tolerated. Minor injury was for the most part ignored.

"You crashed? You all right?"

Typically, Kid didn't respond, being too busy brushing dirt from his clothes. This action was unfortunately counter-productive, for it was also managing to smear mud into the material, causing Kid to become increasingly frustrated until Shinigami tugged at the offending shirt-sleeve to gain his son's attention.

"He-llo Kid!" Shinigami sang, leaning down to the boy until they were practically mask-to-nose.

"I crashed. My shirt is muddy."

"I can see that. You don't need to worry about _that_." Shinigami replied, close proximity revealing to his Soul Perception what he had already guessed. For a start, Kid shouldn't have needed to come in through the front door. It seemed as though Kid's research really had come to something, and it was all Shinigami could do to wait for Kid to reveal it himself. It was _his_ achievement, after all.

"Yes I do. It's not symmetrical this way. I must change it." Kid started towards the stairs, or at least would have done was Shinigami not still holding his shirt.

"Want to tell me what happened?!" Shinigami clapped his hands in anticipation. Kid looked up at him with narrow-eyed complacency that only just hid his true, uncommon, reaction of surprise.

"It _flew_. Beelzebub flew over the wall." He didn't get any further before Shinigami – in another uncommon reaction – was hugging him in his over-sized hands. The awkward gesture wasn't always appreciated by Kid, who had a very particular idea of formality, but in this case he patted his father's finger in bemused happiness. He still wasn't sure what had happened, or how he'd made it happen, and said this much to father.

"It's a very clever thing you did, Kid!" Shinigami praised. "I'm very pleased with your progress, definitely!"

"Thank-you, but what _was_ it?"

"You see, Kid, shinigami can manipulate things around them."

"Yes. We destroy them." Kid's brow creased at this sentence, comparing it as he had done most things death god related to the basis of their existence: all things ended.

"No-no, not like that. Not with this. You see..." Shinigami raised a hand and looked around the room. He knew, in theory, he could will movement of inanimate objects in the same fashion Kid had. As he wasn't used to it, he could only hope it would work. It wouldn't do to be giving a lesson where the student was more proficient than the master.

They had come into the living-room now, Kid's clothing temporarily forgotten. There was a book on the table, and it was this that Shinigami gestured to. Kid kept his eyes on the thick volume. Like with Beelzebub, a faint blue aura began to surround the book. It shuddered on the desk before rising into the air and sailing calmly over to Kid, who took hold of it.

"See?"

Kid nodded. He did see, and it had appeared so easy for father.

"Why haven't I see you do things like this?"

"Well, it's not one of our most important abilities. Like flight, it's helpful, but not the easiest thing to learn. Like you say, we're more predisposed, uh, _used_ to destruction. That you've begun to grasp the theory already is a very good sign. Shinigami can't get along in this world" Shinigami lectured as though quoting someone else's words "without adaptation, and we cannot adapt to the world without having our skills progress too."

Kid nodded solemnly and put the book back on the desk.

"Let me do it."

Shinigami watched Kid focus intently on the book for about a minute. Then, the boy fidgeted anxiously, embarrassment colouring his face. It was a day of rare events, Shinigami mused.

"Um....father?"

"Yes, Kid?"

"_How_ do I do it?"

"Pretty much like how you got your skateboard to you."

Kid blinked, having thought he'd got away with that little trick.

"I..I just thought about it. Asked for it." He answered hesitantly, trying to hide his surprise at having been caught out.

"Uh-huh. And that's what you need to do here."

Once again, Kid looked to the book, glaring as though he could scare the leather-bound volume into motion. Shinigami made an impressed sound as a blue light surrounded the book. At this, Kid took a deep breath, lips moving as he quietly willed the book to do his bidding as Beelzebub had done. The book shuddered in its place – and promptly disintegrated.

As Kid clenched his fists in angry disappointment at this failure, Shinigami patted his shoulder encouragingly.

"I _did_ say it doesn't come easily. Put it this way, you definitely got it to move _somewhere_!"

Kid mumbled something about the book not moving in the way he wanted.

"Anyway!" Shinigami was keen to turn to another subject, "Maybe we're not going about this the right way. You've got years and years to learn this stuff. Hey, have you thought about taking on a Weapon?"

But Kid was no longer in the room. Sighing, for the boy really was a handful sometimes, Shinigami tracked him down to where he knew Kid would be. Standing in front of his wardrobe, tugging out a black shirt identical to the dirty one that was now in the laundry basket along with every other piece of clothing Kid had recently decided was unsuitable for him to wear until washed. Some had been disposed of simply for getting creased, a habit Shinigami was starting to think he needed Kid to get out of.

In his bedroom, the Shinigami's son was home. Within its four walls, symmetry reigned and everything outside of it: be it skateboards or doomed books, was forgotten. The only reason he didn't have two beds was because a second would not fit; almost everything else was duplicated exactly. Shinigami had taken it as a positive thing that Kid hadn't simply demanded that he took another bedroom in the mansion. Like his occasionally non-symmetrical interests, Kid showed a few signs of not being completely driven by his obsessions. 'A few' was enough for his father, and so long as his son was happy, and could be kept that way, Shinigami was happy. For now, if not for much longer, being a death god could wait.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – Why is a primarily defensive stance named 'Punishment', anyway? There's a bit more of Kid's obsessions in this chapter, along with a bit more speculation on that _other_ thing that makes him rather out of the ordinary, even for _Soul Eater_. There is also some mild violence, which I'm warning for here because it's not exactly in-keeping with the overall rating of the story.

- In which plans are made, and fail, and there is no compromise.

Chapter 4

With one hand held up and the other down, Kid felt both open and a little odd. This 'death god martial art' father had been teaching him looked nothing like the kind of unarmed combat he had seen practised by the Shibusen students, even the Technicians. Nevertheless, he intended to persevere. Following his father's motions on the other side of the mirror, he moved into the next stance – Punishment. It didn't work, for in moving to keep pace Kid found that he tripped over his own feet. Not for the first time that morning, the boy ended up on the floor.

As Kid got to his feet, Shinigami appeared beside him.

"That was a good attempt, you were just moving a little too fast. The technique should come first, speed later, all right? Can't get ahead of yourself."

Kid nodded, not entirely agreeing. He needed it to be perfect. Anything less was not right, and therefore not for Kid. The compulsion for perfection was stronger for this than most other things in his life. Not that he'd admit it to his father, who occasionally looked anxious about his son's attitude. His talent was genetic, his abilities unlike those of any human.

The child shinigami was, as he'd heard several Shibusen staff-members comment, on a "different level" to the new Technicians. It was why he hadn't joined the new year's intake of students, which included Death Scythe's daughter. Their training wouldn't work for Kid, who had had since birth a potential for the kind of speed and strength – fundamental to the work of Shinigami's operatives – that none of the Technicians-in-training could hope to achieve. It was a simple distinction, and one that father and son were frequently aware of since Kid's tenth birthday. In matters such as combat, for example.

Shinigami had tried in the past to teach his son the very specific martial art practised by their kind. He had hoped that its insistence upon order and technique to achieve the user's ends would appeal to his son's obsessive side. Which indeed it had done. However, it had also thrown into sharp relief the extent of Death the Kid's asymmetry disorder.

The boy had reacted violently to realising he had one foot even an inch out of place or his hand at the wrong angle by a matter of degrees. And Shinigami did not dare make any mention of the stripes in Kid's hair, cute though they were. The collapsing and pounding his fists on the floor Shinigami could just about handle. The times when Kid had been physically ill after such a "failure" were far more worrying.

"Now. Shall we try again?"

Kid responded to the suggestion by taking the stance of sin, this time in a textbook manner; perfect, as he would call it. The two progressed slowly at first, attack responded to by block or evasion, Shinigami noting that Kid was, as per usual, pausing momentarily to check his technique. Any such hesitation would normally provide the elder god with the perfect opening to attack, but Shinigami was more concerned with charting his son's progress than showing him the error of his ways.

This was the case until Shinigami attacked to Kid's right – a simple chop that should have been easily blocked – only to find that he made contact with the boy's arm. For Kid was still in the process of 'correcting' the appropriate block. Sighing, Shinigami stepped back and removed the hand that dwarfed his son's own.

"Do you see what happened there, Kid?"

"Hmm. Yes. The angle's not quite right." Kid was looking to his forearm in some consternation, twisting it this way and that.

"_Not_ that. You were too busy thinking about the details to defend yourself. Had this been an actual fight I would have injured you."

"But the angle wasn't right. What's the _point _of defending myself if I can't do it properly?" Kid argued fiercely, frowning up at his father's mask. Shinigami wondered if he should point out that "not dying" would be enough for some. Probably not. He suspected Kid would sooner have death than disorder, as he had claimed often in his more hysterical moments. Well, he perhaps shouldn't _say _it...

"The point?"

Before Kid could react to this absence of an answer, his father attacked him again, a strike to his chest knocking him firmly to the ground. Anyone watching would have been shocked at the apparent violence against the child, but Kid was made of stronger stuff than most. This did not, however, prevent him having the air knocked out of him.

Groaning incoherently, Kid blinked up to find his father crouching over him.

"Do you see the point now?" Shinigami asked brightly, offering a finger to help Kid to his feet.

"I was thinking too much." Kid admitted grimly. He had tried to move, but the same old compulsions had slowed his arm. Father was the only person he would admit these kinds of failings to. Against him, and what he stood for, Kid's notions of order paled in comparison.

"While you're in here, sparring with me or any of my staff, you can take all the time you want to perfect your technique. I don't mind in the slightest. But out in the world, when you will be faced by all sorts of dangers, you will _not_ have that luxury, Kid. It can be fast and crude, and sometimes you will be forced to act on impulse and make a quick decision in spite of your usual judgement."

Kid looked down at his hands for a moment in thought.

"Than I shall. Perfect my technique. I will not sacrifice symmetry, and there is _no_ compromise."

Shinigami had honestly doubted that Kid would find one.

---

The roads were dark, dark and uneven. The winding cobbled streets that gave Death City some of its bizarre charm were nothing but a bane to the very _linear _life of Death the Kid. He appreciated far more the American style of constructing cities; grids were beautifully neat and tidy. Even the straight old Roman roads remained in some areas of Britain. But father just had to be _different_. Anyone watching him might have thought Kid was meandering aimlessly through the streets, but this was not so. He had, as always, a method. One could either go left or right, and with that in mind, it was how Kid had proceeded from Shibusen's gates. Left. Right. Left, then right again. And now he found himself far into one corner of the city, where houses began to be replaced by older buildings. From off almost every road narrow alleys snaked, tiny shops and stalls, closed for the night, popped up in unexpected places. Twice Kid had rounded a corner to find himself facing a dead end. It made his head hurt.

He had left the day's lesson with aching limbs and questions to be answered. Having told his father with such confidence that he would perfect his technique, Kid was now unsure of how to go about doing so. He could practice with the staff only so much. Syd Barrett was a willing and skilled opponent, used to training young Technicians, but he had been dissuaded from training Kid when an accurate and enthusiastic punch had badly broken his nose. Seeing the damage his son could cause from not knowing his own strength, Shinigami had calmly asked that Kid not practice with Barrett for the time being.

It seemed to Kid that only father was happy to help him train. And in a school full of would-be warriors and experienced fighters, this was not a happy thought for the young shinigami. If it was the case with Shibusen's staff, would Kid ever find a Weapon who suited him? Father had raised the topic more and more often since Spirit's daughter had found a partner. It wasn't often that Kid appreciated his father taking a cue from his rather daft Weapon, and this one not one of those times. Yet the Shinigami had been unusually persistent on this point, when normally he would drop a subject if Kid didn't seem interested in it.

A sound interrupted Kid's thoughts as a dustbin clattered to the pavement further down the road. In the collective background noise of Death City, it was nothing unusual. But in the night, such sounds took on a different quality. Gone was the chatter of shopping crowds and students, replaced by the occasional sounds and flickers of light in this less populated area of the city. And now, there was something else. Not quite a sound, nor a sensation, but something in between.

Kid shivered as he recognised this perception, of his soul responding to the close presence of another. He still wasn't used to the ability, the colours and shapes of souls in the city often becoming overwhelming to Kid if he tried to focus on too many all at once. Shinigami had had to remind him that it wasn't necessary for Kid to look at souls _all_ the time. It gave him a headache and a tendency to squint at people in an effort to pin down their soul wavelength.

This soul's wavelength was uneven and rank, a curious mixture of a bad taste and a sound of screeching static. He walked quickly up to the end of the road where the dustbin had fallen, and found the mouth of yet another alleyway. The occupants of the now-empty buildings on either side of the small path clearly deposited their rubbish in it, for Kid stumbled over a box of yellowed newspapers as he entered the alley.

It didn't take long for Kid to identify the source of the disgustingly chaotic wavelength. At the end of the alley a creature stood. It was as good a description as any as the being possessed a recognisably human form, but elongated fingers that had grown into claws, and a hideously flattened face that seemed to be all eyes. But it still had a mouth and in it teeth to bare at the woman dangling from its claws, struggling feebly.

The woman did not see Kid for a moment, who stood fixed in surprise at this his first encounter with a kishin outside of books. Though a minor threat by Shibusen's standards, it was nonetheless dangerous and not least to the human now threatened by it. The kishin's black tongue licked the woman's face, and she whimpered in fear. Now was no time for Kid to pause.

"Hey, you there. Let her _go_." The brief command lent Kid more confidence than he currently felt. The kishin turned to face him and after gazing briefly at the boy, flung its captive to the ground. With a cry the woman scrambled past Kid and into the road behind him. The kishin was much taller than Kid, taller than any proper human had a right to be. It was lucky, then, that Kid was used to facing too-tall opponents – father took advantage of his ability to shift in and out of human form as he pleased.

Impulse, father had said. A quick decision. Kid flung one arm up and the other out, knowing without looking this time that his stance was perfect. The kishin took this as the challenge it was and surged forward, lashing out so wildly its claws clattered against the walls, gouging the brickwork. Kid rolled out of the way, kicking out in an attempt to trip the creature. It worked, if momentarily. Clearly the beast wasn't expecting such small prey to be so agile. The kishin tumbled into the road in a mess of limbs and a flurry of rubbish.

Kid struck, his fist connecting with the thing's chest with a dull thud. But coming in so close had its disadvantages, and the boy found himself thrown sideways, back down the alley. Sliding to a halt, Kid sprang to his feet only quick enough to block the kishin's arm as it stuck from overhead. The kishin pressed down, eyes only on his target until a roundhouse kick slammed into its waist.

As the kishin toppled sideways, howling, Kid's exceptional balance saved him from doing the same on the now rubbish-strewn ground. The noise was such that people would surely come running soon, which would not help matters. Everything that he'd read on kishin told Kid that they despised and feared humanity; it reminded some of what they once were, and provoked others into berserk blood-lust.

Taking advantage of the creature's state, Kid attacked again. He had no aim in mind but the kishin's demise, and so did not bother to hold back; feet and fists bruised flesh and broke bone with inhuman strength. Kishin were chaos, and violence. They were death without order, and maybe it was that which did the most to spur Kid on even as he tired and the kishin retaliated. Kid felt a claw slice through his shirt, scoring a bloody line down his chest and onto his stomach. With a cry of pain the boy collapsed back against the wall.

It was standing over him. Though his vision blurred from pain, on some level Kid knew that the kishin, this thing of chaos now loomed above him. There was no laugh of delight or sign of pleasure in victory. No reason. Just animal lust that flowed off the soul so fiercely it turned Kid's stomach. He, a shinigami, a child, was nothing but another soul.

No. This was wrong. The sensation was small at first, shock having stripped Kid of any strength remaining in his body and mind. Yet his soul still rebelled. It was, after all, the soul of a shinigami, the bringer and guardian of death. The soul of Death that no mortal could ever completely destroy. Kid's fingers twitched under this new compulsion and time seemed to slow. He looked the kishin directly in the eye, and spoke in a voice that didn't sound quite his own;

"You. Your soul, I think...is. Mine."

He screamed, then, clutching at the kishin and rushing it against the opposing wall. The pair hit it so hard the bricks crunched beneath them. The kishin scrabbled madly at the sudden vicious onslaught as its head was slammed against the wall. There was a crunch. And silence.

Even as the body began to disintegrate, Death the Kid did not move. The kishin's form, crushed and bloody from the shinigami's rage simply faded around from existence around him. After a moment, only a soul remained. Feeling that his body was already healing itself, Kid still trembled from pain and shock at what had just occurred. He cupped the soul in his hands, not sure what needed to happen next. Father would know.

---

He was pacing again. Or, at least, as close to 'pacing' as Shinigami could manage without having physical legs. From between the window at the end of the hall, and the chairs on the opposite side, the death god traversed the intervening space with growing anxiety. The more figuratively minded might say that a nervous person displayed their worry physically. An aura, if you will. In this case, no imagery was needed for the air around the Shinigami's sheer black form crackled.

Lounging in a chair, Spirit Albarn looked up at Shinigami.

"There's a quick way to solve this, you know." The Weapon stated, raising a finger.

"That, Spirit, is exactly why I'd rather not do it. I did _say _I trusted him not to come back too late." And indeed he had, as pleased by Kid's progress that day Shinigami had agreed to let the boy go for a walk. Perhaps he had agreed a little too eagerly.

"I know, but if this was Maka, I'd-"

"Kid is not Maka." Shinigami stated simply.

"I dunno, they're both curious about a lot of things. I mean, Kid asked to go out today because he wants to see the city; Maka'd be all over the place if Kami and me let her. You also know he hasn't left Death City, and the only reason you're freaking out right now is because you're refusing to find out where he is. All you need to do is _look_."

"It's easy for you to say. When was the last time you let Maka out on her own?"

"She's ten!" Spirit reminded. His little girl _had_ only just begun training as a Technician, but the combat lessons were strictly controlled for the youngest pupils. Spirit couldn't imagine letting Maka out on her own for long. Not if he had a say in the matter.

"Yes. And?"

"It's like you said." Spirit fiddled with his cross-shaped tie for a moment, back-pedalling at his own double standards "Maka isn't Kid. You can get away with letting Kid out for a bit because he understands more than human children his age." Deliberately repeating the same questionable reasoning Shinigami had given when telling Spirit why he'd let his son out on his own, the Scythe was unsurprised to see Shinigami stop still halfway back towards the window.

"I was wrong. He's still a child. Not human, but certainly not old enough to go around unsupervised. This will be the _last time_." Spirit tried not to sigh at this, knowing that when Shinigami spoke in such absolutes, with a darker tone than his usual cheery one, he tended to mean it. At this rate, if Kid was lucky he'd be let out on his own again before he turned twenty.

The front door opened and shut, causing Spirit to jump to his feet, and Shinigami to hurry over to where the small figure of Death the Kid was now removing his coat. He managed to put it on its hook before his father reached him, grabbing his shoulders urgently as though meaning to thoroughly examine him for any injury. Then, as though aware of something, he stepped back.

Joining his Technician, it took a moment for Spirit to notice what Shinigami had. Kid's clothes were ripped and dirty, white shirt stained with what looked terribly like blood. There also was a familiarly uneven wavelength around the boy, not coming from Kid's soul but from another. A dead soul, to be precise. Kid opened his hand to reveal a glowing orb, pulsating with dying energy as the soul faded into its next destination as all would if not properly collected.

"Kid..." Spirit's choked attempt at a response produced just the one word. The fact the soul was that of a minor kishin did little to calm his shock at this event. Death the Kid held the corrupted soul with unnerving ease.

"Hmm. Well, that's quite something." Shinigami remarked. Beside him, Spirit hung his head at such a casual answer.

"It was attacking a human. I killed it." Kid explained in his usually curt manner.

"Ye-yeah, we can see that." Spirit said weakly.

"All by yourself?" Shinigami asked.

"Yes. It wasn't as fast as I thought it might be. Strong, though." Kid added.

Spirit shook his head in disbelief, for this was easily the most successful – and uncanny – first soul capture Spirit had seen since becoming the Death Scythe. He didn't whether to be elated for Kid's achievement, or alarmed at the same. Most students did not complete a mission successfully in their first year at Shibusen, let alone within the first few weeks.

"You hurt?" He asked, for Shinigami seemed deep in thought.

"Not badly." But Kid was paler than usual, so Spirit wasn't about to trust his answer.

"You have _blood_ on y-"

"Well." Shinigami said again, "This is _excellent _news, Kid. You found a threat to humans and eliminated it perfectly. There's not one hint of damage to the soul itself!" He pointed eagerly to the ex-kishin, its soul wavelength intact and undamaged by Kid's attack.

"Thank-you, father." Only a flicker of his eyes to one side revealed the pleasure Kid felt from hearing his father's praise.

"But, now what do I do with it? I know it needs to be collected, but..." He frowned at the soul, trying to figure out what he needed to do next, and seemed wholly unconcerned by the number of scratches over his arms and face. It was these that Shinigami's attention had now been drawn to. He plucked the soul from Kid's hand, saying;

"You're in no state to do this yourself, Kid – don't think I haven't noticed you're injured – so just let me handle it for now, yes?"

Kid mumbled agreement, and duly turned his gaze to the soul now in the broad palm of his father's hand.

Taking one last look at the captured soul, Shinigami gave one simple order, "Collect."

Light sprang up from his hand and engulfed the soul. It shimmered for a moment before fading as quickly as it had come. The small spectacle showed nothing of the process itself, that linked any one shinigami in the physical world to a 'Death' greater than they were. But from the look on Kid's face, he had no thought of questioning it tonight. He sighed as Shinigami lowered his hand, "Ah, that's...good." The soul dealt with, Kid was reminded of his injuries. He put a hand to his chest, and frowned in confusion as his fingers came away red with blood.

Shinigami caught Kid as the boy toppled forward, the extent of his wounds and exhaustion having finally caught up with him. Even a young god had his limits, especially in a human body. Holding his son easily in one arm, Shinigami took a moment to pull aside the blood-stained shirt to reveal the injury caused by the kishin's claws. Though it was healing with the speed only a shinigami's body possessed, it was clear to Shinigami's eyes that it was only luck that saved Kid from far worse injury. A inch higher, or deeper, and the result... It didn't bear thinking about. Even for him.

Spirit could only watch and follow behind as Shinigami took Kid upstairs. He did not think there was anything he could do to help but intended to stay around, just in case. He'd found himself doing that more and more for his Technician over the years, but tonight was an especially dreadful example. He followed him as far as Kid's bedroom, whereupon the door was shut firmly in his face. Another constant in his relationship with the Shinigami was that Spirit found himself swiftly ignored when something more important arose. Mostly, it was one of Shinigami's eccentricities to have his attention turn this way and that, but just sometimes it was down to necessity, when nothing else mattered. The two fathers had long ago found where each drew the line; their family. Now, it was Spirit's turn to pace.

---

There was no denying the look of suspicion on Kami's face when Spirit entered the living-room.

"You're late." She stated simply, placing her cup of tea down on the coffee table and motioned to the space on the sofa beside her.

"I got caught up-"

"Really? You said you wouldn't be long with Shinigami." Her words were innocent enough, but the silent accusation was plain for Spirit to see. He wondered how he would react if he were entirely blameless. At least, on this occasion, Kami's doubts were unfounded.

"Kid was out. He, uh, managed to get into a fight with a kishin."

Kami had been looking blankly towards the television in an attempt to avoid her husband's gaze, but now she turned to him, shocked.

"What? How is he?"

"Well, he killed it, thank goodness, but he was pretty badly hurt. Shinigami said he'll be okay, though." Spirit lent back into the sofa, taking the opportunity to put on arm around Kami's shoulders. Perhaps surprised by the explanation, Kami allowed him to do so, even leaning her head against his chest slightly. In that moment, it felt to Spirit as though nothing had come between them. Not work, nor his likening for certain bars in the city. Or their occupants.

"It's good to hear Kid's all right, and you're back. I was beginning to worry."

"I know." It was all that needed to be said, and all that either could say just then. With the night's events their problems seemed almost trivial. As though aware of that, Kami turned to another subject, one that both she and Spirit could agree on.

"Maka's did well today. She got an A in her last assignment. Would you believe she's worried that she didn't get one hundred percent?"

Spirit could believe it. His daughter was always striving for excellence no matter how often he would remind her that she needed to look after herself first. Kami, in contrast, wanted to support Maka's goal of becoming an great Scythe Technician however she wanted to do it. Neither parent could forget Maka's partner, either, as Soul was staying with them for convenience as they lived in Death City. The boy seemed willing to work with Maka, and certainly seemed interested in being a Weapon for Shibusen.

Technically, Spirit knew better than to interfere to much in the new partnership, but it didn't stop him asking the pair on a regular basis how they were doing. How was Maka getting along wielding Soul? Was Soul getting used to transforming? The answers to both had been a resounding 'yes', in spite of Kami's reports to Spirit that Maka still had a habit of tripping over Soul whilst swinging him round, and that Soul sometimes transformed unintentionally when he wasn't paying attention. That one had also informed Spirit that the boy had a wide vocabulary.

Maka and Soul Eater's first tentative steps to becoming a true Technician and Weapon partnership seemed a world away from what Spirit had witnessed that night, and far more familiar. The summer's day when Maka and Kid had argued over toys like two 'normal' children seemed all too long ago. He'd always known Kid was his father's son, but seeing what he had done single-handed to a kishin had only re-enforced that fact in the Weapon's mind. Not for him were the lectures on appropriate soul resonance and Weapon safety, not when he had a soul that, apparently, reacted out of some ancient survival instinct that was utterly inhuman. No amount of note-taking, Spirit reckoned, could have prepared Kid for that, and even Shinigami had been surprised when he'd realised. And anything that could surprise his Technician, left Spirit wondering just what might come in the future.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N – They were not looking for anything, really. They certainly did not put it down to 'fate'. But chance has a habit of bringing people together, whatever the consequences.

This and the following chapter are going to bring in Liz and Patti, using what we know about their past and how they met Kid. Therefore, much of it is my speculation alongside what I've established in previous chapters. It takes more than one chapter because the length of 5 compared to the rest was just getting _silly_.

Chapter 5

There was no turning back now. As she rounded the corner into a sidestreet, the girl slapped a hand against the wall to keep her balance. She should have known better. It was a stupid, _stupid _idea to go to the same men again. But she needed to eat, after all. And if not her, then Patti. Always, she'd do it for Patti.

"Come back, bitch!"

Four had followed her and were quickly gaining, one genius supposing that ordering her to stop would get her to slow down. No way. But Liz's side ached from running so far, and for so long and she found herself stumbling and panting for breath as her head pounded in time with her heartbeat. Then came the bullets. Liz knew they weren't aiming to kill, or even seriously injure. There were some left in Brooklyn who had their own reasons to see the twin Demon Pistols in one piece. Kind of them.

She ducked as a bullet whistled overhead, gave a hiss of pain as a ricochet sliced past her arm, leaving a trail of blood to her elbow. Then she tripped, her foot catching in a box, sending Liz crashing to the ground. She choked as she landed, the impact slamming her jaw shut and grazing her palms. There would be no more running today. And, it appeared, no explanation from her pursuers. Four guns cocked above her, four sets of boots circled around the fallen girl in steely professionalism. No chance, then, that they'd be spooked by the very sight of a Weapon? One look up into the eye of the nearest man told Liz that was hopeless.

"You're coming with us-" The man began, but was interrupted by a familiar sound. To the man's side, one of his companions gave a cry and fell to the ground. The speaker raised his gun to the surrounding alley and windows. Liz wasn't about to give him the chance to find his target. Partly transforming was always a pain, both awkward and never producing the same effects as being wielded by her sister. But now it would be good enough. Liz grinned as her forearm altered into something sort-of resembling the barrel of a pistol. There was still skin amongst the curved metal, but the change was workable enough to send a shot of soul-energy slamming into the man's chest. He stared, disbelieving, before falling backwards onto the very box Liz had tripped over.

She changed back and rubbed her arm. Yeah, she liked the _proper_ way a lot more.

"Sis!"

Patti clattered down the stairs of a fire-escape just one floor up. Apparently oblivious to the carnage she had just created, men lying injured and unconscious around her, she leapt at her sister and enveloped her in a hug. Liz too ignored their predicament for a moment, returning the embrace in silent thanks, to no-one in particular, for them having survived. Again.

---

"Patti?" Liz looked to the other girl who was kneeling down by the greying wall, chalking pictures into the grime. The graffiti tags were being invaded by bright, smiling suns, dogs and what looked like it could be a rabbit.

"Yeah?" Patti added eyes to the maybe-rabbit and turned to her older sister.

"We need to think about...getting out of here."

Knowing what was coming next, Liz turned her gaze to look out of the window. Once, the street beyond had perhaps been full of happy families. Now it was abandoned, left to people like her and Patti. The addicts, the thieves, and far worse. The stub of chalk dropped to the ground as Patti got to her feet, head bowed.

"Why?" There was none of Patti's usual bright tone in the question.

"You saw what happened today. There are even more people after us now, not just than the police" Liz almost added "worse than them".

"So? We've dealt with em' before, right? We can do it again!" Patti was fierce, speaking with the kind of stubborn determination that really had meant the Thompson sisters had survived so far in a world that could be so damn hard.

"Not always, Patti. I wish it could be like that. Hell, this city may be fucked up but it's still our home, right?" Liz managed a smile and held her hands out to her sister. Patti took them and met Liz's gaze, but there was no understanding there.

"Yeah. Home. You, me. Here. Nowhere else. Not givin' up."

Liz squeezed Patti's hands tight, wanting to agree, to believe that they could carry on. Maybe find something better, even (not that it'd ever worked in the past...). But they'd burnt some big bridges recently, and Liz wasn't about to risk Patti for the sake of nostalgia and some childish optimism. Dreams never get you anywhere.

"Not any more, sis, not any more..." Liz hung her head now, tears stinging her eyes. God, she hated this. Perhaps staying would be easier, if the thought of starting out somewhere else made her feel so lost. Better the devils you know, right? She felt Patti stroke her hair a few times in a vain attempt at comfort. When Liz raised her eyes again Patti was back at the wall, striking vicious lines through her artwork, growling;

"We're _not_ giving up!"

---

Death the Kid was being watched. He could tell this without looking up from his paperwork. Sitting in the waiting room of one of Shibusen's small regional offices he could feel the gazes of the staff upon him. The receptionist spoke to one of the meisters in hushed tones, occasionally giving Kid the odd sideways glance. From what Kid had overheard, it was the same old story. Without some irrefutable proof, the good men and women of Shinigami's school did not, would not believe that a young boy had quickly and precisely taken out some of the more taxing kishin in their area. Much less that he had done so single-handed.

Kid was ready and willing to give them the proof that they required. Short of summoning his father, of course. Doing that would surely admit defeat, give the Shinigami further evidence that Kid's kishin-capturing efforts were not entirely accepted by his staff. And Kid could not have that. He knew his place as a shinigami, and no ignorant humans were going to make him doubt it. That it had come tonight was especially frustrating. Honestly, he did not know what had taken the western Europe contingent so very long to eliminate one particular target.

The man barely fitted the criteria for a potential kishin – little more than a serial killer with some unpleasant habits. Kid suspected that lingering sense of ambiguity was the reason behind the Parisian teams taking so long. Except under dire circumstances, Shibusen teams did not kill merely 'criminal' humans. And under no circumstances did a sanctioned Weapon take the soul of such a person. It was fortunate, then, that Shinigami had at least one operative who lacked the same moralistic doubts on the subject. Kid knew his father's lore on hunting kishin, and had followed it to the letter for over a year. Any being who earned himself a place on the Shinigami's list of targets would be dealt with. As far as Kid was concerned, that was the beginning _and_ the end of the matter.

A hand was waved in front of Kid's eyes. He looked up so sharply at the interruption that the men, a meister and Weapon, stepped back in surprise;

"Ah...so-sorry! You see, we, I..um." The meister stuttered in broken English. Having a talent for languages was another of the skills Kid put down to being a shinigami; Death was universal, after all.

"You are the head meister here?" He asked in French.

"Yes, sir. Charles Allard, sir." The 'sir' was not necessary (certainly not twice), but Kid could not bring himself to correct the man who was nervous enough as it was.

"Well. I believe I explained my position to your receptionist. I am here" at this point Kid handed the man a sheet of paper detailing the mission and the signature of his father "at the request of the Shinigami to eliminate one of your local kishin."

The meister took the paper and swallowed hard. Apparently information in black, white, and French was harder to question than the evidence of his eyes.

"While I have the _most_ respect for the Shinigami," He began after a moment, and in a slightly patronising tone that made Kid question that respect "you must accept that I and my staff find it a little hard to believe that a, ah, child could destroy such a target."

No, I 'must' not accept that, Kid thought sourly, patience wearing thin. I could just leave you people to your small thoughts and take my results to father personally. But he'd promised father that he would do these things properly. He fixed Allard with a penetrating yellow gaze, and tried a new tactic.

"Would it satisfy you to _see_ the results?"

Allard exchanged a glance with his partner.

"Yes." he said a little hollowly "That would suffice." He wrung his hands in obvious anxiety, and Kid could not help but be a little amused.

What he intended to do next was _not_ something Kid enjoyed very much. Souls that he had collected were meant to stay put. It was just what needed to happen, and meddling further gave him a stomach-ache. But with only half an hour having past since consigning the murderer to his final destination, Kid had the leeway to give the good meister the proof he so desired. He held out his hands, fingers turned inwards; one. Next, he brought his hands up with the fingers bent; two. Finally, he extended his arms with just four fingers out, two on either hand; three. The process was one so old that even father had not been able to tell Kid its origins. Perhaps it was just a form used to focus the mind and had no deeper significance. Whatever the meaning, Kid felt the changes immediately.

His soul wavelength expanded greatly, skull-like shapes snaking from the circumference. The outline of a skull with three pointed teeth appeared on the floor before him. A simple image of death that father had used for longer than Kid could remember, it was enough to make the men beside him step away in fear. That was the easy part. Exhaling, Kid focussed upon the soul he'd collected that evening. It still wavered in the limbo between the physical and deathly worlds, recently removed from the former and yet to be taken fully into the latter. He found the damned thing, and _pulled_.

Kid felt sweat break out on his forehead and gritted his teeth. He blinked once, and the soul was in front of him once again, small yet exuding an air of nameless menace even to him. Allard and his partner were staring at it. Kid looked questioningly to the pair, eager to let the soul fall back into its place. Evidence enough, was it?

---

From the air, Death City at noon was always a sight to behold. In the wide desert the sun shone unhindered onto the city the Shinigami had built. Kid's vantage point, high on Beelzebub, allowed him to gaze down upon his father's domain, every deliberately placed skull, horn and other seemingly ostentatious ornament. But today the effect upon Kid was dulled – he did not want to be here. When he'd explained to father why he'd saw fit to retrieve a soul, Shinigami's reaction had been low-key at best. Kid had sensed in his father's voice the kind of unspoken disappointment he always hated to hear. It was not even as though Shinigami thought Kid was _abusing _his abilities, but that he felt he was using them unnecessarily. Kid had been unsurprised when Shinigami, asking that Kid return home as soon as possible, mentioned that he did not think there would be any more suitable missions for the time being. Which, really, left Kid at a loose end. And he did not like that one bit. Looking down to the three orbs hanging above the centre of Shibusen, Kid came to a decision; he turned left.

The absence of the younger death god was noticed only when, having finished the day's meetings and observations, Shinigami realised that he really should have heard from his son by then. Normally, Kid liked to take the quickest route from A to B and flying on his skateboard meant that he could achieve this without compromising his attention to detail. Shinigami wondered briefly whether he'd upset the boy by reminding him to use his abilities with caution, especially when

around humans, who could be funny about that sort of thing. It was only when a look into his mirror revealed Kid several hundred miles east did he become a little puzzled;

"Hey, Sid?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you know about New York?"

---

The first thing Kid noticed was the number of people. Death City felt like a small village compared to this massive city. _Part_ of a city, even. He had walked in his usual fashion with no particular destination in mind. One direction led logically onto the next, and for now that was enough for him. It had been a few days since he'd turned left from Shibusen, and since then he'd spoken to his father but thought about him rarely. Or at least had tried not to. The ensuing guilt, the sensation that Kid was doing something wrong by indulging in this fickle impulse, was not one he was comfortable with. But the fact remained that Kid had put so much into assisting his father's operation that – faced with the possibility of not doing so – he had _no idea_ of what to do next. He had no school to attend, no Weapon to train with.

Although aimlessness had never sat well with the young god, he had surprised even himself with this reaction and had several periods of decrying his own inadequacies, loudly, violently, and in public to the alarm of passers-by. So, he had taken his new-found freedom and found in it an objective; exploration and understanding. He had observed from a distance the lives of people, individuals and families, had found in them experiences that related to his own. They were children with parents, fathers with sons... In short, Kid had found nothing that was new to him. Not that this displeased him, of course, and far from it. Were the human race in its entirety based on a foundation of the same principles of interaction, he would be happy. It was, in fact, a form of order he could accept.

His path had led him from bustling streets full of shops, down into far less lively areas. And now, into a selection of alleyways. He seemed to have a tendency to end up in such places. Kid paid no heed to the looks he got from locals who were maybe amused to see a boy wandering around in suit. Their opinions mattered nothing to him. A point which, as it happened, he soon had a chance to demonstrate. Kid felt their souls at first, emitting wavelengths that were frustrated, angry, and very much human. He noticed also that they were Weapons, though he did not bother to ascertain which kind. Perhaps he should have done.

Turning, Kid found himself approached by two girls. Well, 'girls' was not quite the right term. They were older than he, most likely in their late teens. It was difficult to tell behind the ragged, garish clothing and vacant expressions. The tallest had a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, and it twitched slightly as she smiled at him. It was not a nice smile. The other was practically beaming at him, but there was something predatory in that childish grin and wide blue eyes.

"Your money, kid. Drop it."

The smoking one ordered sharply, tone monotonous enough to make Kid suspect that this was not the first time the pair had happened upon a tourist in the wrong place (for him) and the right time (for them). She punctuated the command by spitting out the cigarette and squashing it under her heel.

"No." Kid responded. He _had_ money to drop, of course, but he was not about to relinquish it to a pair of muggers. It would be best for all concerned if they left and found another target. Such small-scale crime was not the business of a shinigami. If they persisted, he could simply hand them over to local law-enforcement. The police would surely deal with them appropriately.

The young woman frowned and the smile drifted from the face of her companion. In trice, the second girl was gone, replaced by a pistol in the other's hand. So that was her Weapon form, Kid noted. No matter. A gunshot wound would be a painful inconvenience and end to his excursion. But they'd have to catch their target first.

Backing against the wall, hands in pockets, Kid allowed the woman to bring the barrel of the gun up close to his chin.

"You heard what I said. It's, like, your money or your life, yeah?"

This time, her speech was slurred and something about the phrase did not ring true for Kid. As though the woman was forgetting herself. This possibility was only furthered by how her eyes seemed unable to fix upon him. Drunk, maybe. Or otherwise inebriated. He'd heard that there were plenty of substances that caused humans to take leave of their senses. Kid was thankful he was not familiar with such things. He had had quite enough;

"I've not got time for this." He pushed the woman aside, firmly but not aggressively, and made to continue down the path.

Kid sensed the shot before he even heard it, and stepped quickly to one side. Sure enough, a shot of soul-wavelength sizzled into the wall ahead of him. All Weapons manipulated the soul wavelengths of their meisters in one way or another. For firearms, it took the form of bullets. But Kid did not have time to admire the strength of this particular team. Spinning around to face his attackers, he snatched the girl's wrist before she could fire again. But before he could move further things changed. _They_ changed.

His grip faltered as the would-be mugger slipped from his grasp, and at the same time the pistol began to take on a more human form. Next, it was all Kid could do to get out of the way as he was fired on once more. Two pistols? _Two _of them that appeared, at a glance, identical? It would take more investigation, but a bright possibility presented itself to Kid's mind. He dodged the onslaught without thinking about it, grabbing the blonde girl's hand only to this time twist her Weapon out of her fingers. Kid didn't even blink as this was met by a fist aimed at his face. He held the girl at arm's length – she could not harm him, and he had no intention of causing her injury – and regarded her critically. Sure enough, her soul's Weapon form was identical to that of the other Demon Pistol.

"Let her go!"

In his examination, Kid had almost forgotten about the woman. She had transformed back into human form, and was now raising a hand towards him pleadingly.

"Let her go!" She repeated, voice cracking with desperation, the self-assured tone all but gone.

Kid released the girl, asking;

"Who are you two?"

"What?" The two exchanged a glance bemused, as well they might be.

"You are Weapons with identical forms. Please, who are you?" Kid continued, unable to quite keep the joy out of his voice at this wonderful discovery. He knew much of the Demon Weapons, but have never before encountered such a pair.

"I'm Patti!" The grinning one said. "That's Liz. My big sister!" She announced, as though this was a matter for great celebration. Kid was beginning to think she had a point: sisters, Weapons, identical. But what was he thinking, really? The two had tried to rob _him_, a shinigami.

Liz gazed at him in understandable suspicion, and took Patti's arm without a word.

"We're going."

"I thought you wanted my money?" Kid reminded by way of stalling them. He wanted, _needed_, to know more about this example of order in a chaotic city.

"Yeah, and you disarmed Patti. Ain't many who can do that. We know when we're beaten." For some reason, Patti giggled at this."So, unless you wanna arrest us-" she raised her hands in mock surrender "we're out of here."

Stuffing her hands into the tight pockets of her jeans, the Weapon called Liz walked off, Patti skipping beside her.

Kid made no move to stop them for his mind was already made up. He would find them again, these twin pistols who were, in part, so beautifully symmetrical. It looked as though he had found something new here after all.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – Here, we continue with Liz and Patti's encounter with Kid. Enjoy.

Warning for bad language because, well, it's Liz and Patti. Also, with this and future chapters in mind I have changed the overall rating to T so as give a reasonable idea of content.

Chapter 6

The clock had just struck midnight when Kid sought to speak to his father, but this was not the ominous sign that some humans might take it for. Rather, once he'd returned to his hotel room it had taken Kid some hours to return the room to the state he preferred. It had been the third time that week he had been forced to do so, in spite of his repeated requests to the staff not to send someone to clean it. He could keep it quite tidy himself.

Springing into view in a shimmering light, Shinigami's happy wave to his son was met only with a brief nod. For a moment, Kid did not even lower his hands, and Shinigami did not miss how the boy adjusted the position of the fingers on his left hand by mere millimetres. There was, he reckoned, such a thing as teaching a lesson _too_ well.

"Well, Kid! How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well, thank-you father. I have come across some very interesting people in this city."

"Have you now?" Shinigami was genuinely interested, for normally Kid saw nothing remarkable about humans. He knew how they worked and how to deal with them. On the occasions it wasn't truly friendly, his relationship with others was, like so many things in Death the Kid's life, suitably functional. Or as close to 'functional' as the obsessive god could get.

"Indeed. They are two Weapons, sisters, who possess identical forms."

"Is that so?" Shinigami inclined his head thoughtfully. While the Weapon bloodlines naturally produced similar-looking members throughout the generations, to have two who were exactly the same was more unusual. He did not doubt his son's attention to detail in that regard, and his curiosity was piqued. Recalling the encounter earlier in the day, Kid's pose briefly mimicked his father's, but not that he noticed.

"How did you come to meet these two?"

"They tried to rob me."

Shinigami was quiet for a moment, allowing this bluntly factual description to sink in.

"Eh, I suppose they didn't cause you any trouble?" He already knew the answer. Even at his age, Kid was quite capable of besting most of Shibusen's students in combat, and probably a lot of the graduates too, if given the chance. Shinigami held no delusions about his son's ability. He understood it all too well.

"No. Nevertheless, it was really rather...odd." Kid paused, twitching slightly at this affront to what he considered to be proper or _not_ odd. Shinigami held out a hand, gesturing for Kid to continue.

"One of them was giggling the whole time. The other appeared to be drunk and not sure of what she was doing. And yet I found them intriguing."

Shinigami sighed and tapped his mask.

"Might this 'intrigue' have anything to do with the fact their Weapon forms were identical?" Kid could not see him grinning, but Shinigami could not help but let some of his amusement into his tone.

"Of course it would. Aside from that, they did attempt to assault me." Kid pointed out slowly, either ignoring or not noticing his father's tone, and continued;

"As a matter of fact, I have decided to meet them again. I feel there is...potential."

For the first time during their talk, Kid sounded uncertain. Shinigami knew what he was getting at, but wanted to hear it from Kid himself.

"Well, there are plenty of Weapons in the world, Kid. That these two are similar is uncommon, but not really a cause for concern. No big deal, see?"

Kid met his father's gaze, yellow eyes upon the black holes of the mask.

"It is for _me_."

---

There had been no running today. There had been drinking, smoking, and in Patti's case adding to her growing collection of pictures on the wall. Watching her sister light up another cigarette, Patti was reminded of that funny boy they'd met the other day. Liz had been quite right when she said not many had been able to beat the sisters. Patti couldn't remember the last time someone had escaped them like that. Any human who wasn't afraid of a Demon Weapon was an idiot. You could fight them, sure, but get too cocky and you could be dead before you knew it. The boy didn't show any sign of being a Weapon, but he wasn't exactly cocky either. He'd brushed Patti and Liz off like they were nothing. And Patti didn't like that one bit. Almost made her wonder if the brat was even human in the first place.

This hadn't bothered Liz, though, who'd reacted by going back to a familiar routine. No-one else had got the better of them, and she had dealt with the unfortunate encounter by pretending, pretty much, that it hadn't happened. It was getting on for noon when Liz continued to pretend nothing had happened by announcing that she was hungry. Flicking her latest cigarette stub out of the window, she paced over to the crates that contained most of the Thompson sisters worldly possessions. They'd learnt long ago not to hang onto too much, because you never knew when you might have to let go, but there was the odd keepsake amidst the items formerly belonging to other people. What Liz was after right now, however, was money. With her own stomach grumbling, Patti saw nothing wrong with that.

Patti was the first to notice something was up. It had started off behind them, when gladly following Liz as she frequently did, Patti got the sense she was being watched. Turning her head, she had seen no-one. But she had seen that bins alongside the road, which had minutes before been on the ground, where now upright and tidy. Or had turned back at the sound of breaking glass, and found nothing but a few extra broken window panes in a forgotten warehouse. If Liz had noticed these funny things, she said nothing to Patti, simply walking onwards, hands in pockets, cigarette in her mouth in a pose Patti knew of old. To everyone it said "don't bother me". Patti just thought it was a bit funny. As an uneventful day turned to night and the sisters headed back to, for want of a better word, home, Patti's sense of being observed only increased. She _knew_ there was someone behind them, watching and waiting. Liz had ignored her sister's claims, which Patti thought off for someone who was afraid of the dark for god's sake. So when, stepping through the door, Patti heard someone move behind them and span around ready to fight, she did not expect for Liz's arm to shoot out and grab the stalker.

"You again?!"

Patti goggled. Then giggled. Then stared some more. With his shirt collar firmly in Liz's grip, and feet dangling inches from the ground, was the boy they'd met the other day. And although Liz was giving him her very best Demon Pistol glare, he did nothing but gaze back. He looked bored. This made Patti stop laughing.

"You were followin' us." Liz growled, revealing herself to be more on the ball about their unwanted follower than Patti had assumed.

"Yes" The boy answered, causing even the now annoyed Patti to grin a bit at his casual reply, "you could tell?"

"Well, yeah. Not many people would go around tidying bins or breaking windows. What was with the windows, anyway?" Liz wondered, suddenly curious.

"There was an odd number of broken panes. I needed to even them out."

The young woman narrowed her eyes at him.

"Needed?"

"Yes, needed."

"What you hanging there for, anyway, looking so...bored!" Patti snapped suddenly, having lost patience with this kid's attitude.

"I was looking for you two, and I have found you. I previously established that you were no direct threat to me, so you will please excuse me if I fail to be intimidated by the, ahem, demons of Brooklyn."

The prissy little cough he gave at _that_ comment told Liz and Patti that this boy did not see them as anything demonic. Showed what he knew.

"Being looking us up, have you?" Liz dropped him to the ground, and was unsurprised when he took a moment to brush himself down and straighten out his suit. If it wasn't the same black-and-white thing he'd been wearing when she'd tried to mug him, it was an identical one.

"Yes. I was curious about you both, sharing that Weapon form."

"And you thought you'd stalk us all day for that? Stalk us badly, at that. Shit, I thought if we ignored you for long enough you'd give up. What do you really want?"

For the first time, the boy seemed uncertain. He fiddled with the skull-shaped tie on his shirt, eyed the windows cautiously as though he'd spotted another pane that needed breaking. Finally, he drew himself up – nothing being even as tall as Patti – and with a deep breath announced something that made both sisters stare;

"I want you two to become my Weapons, for the Shinigami Weapon meister school."

The Thompsons exchanged a look of surprise. There wasn't any other way to react, really. They had heard of this school, this 'Shibusen', which trained a load of Weapons to work with normal humans and track down what Liz and Patti had vaguely gathered were criminals of some sort. It was the sort of thing spoken of carefully even in their circles, and plenty of their acquaintances were scared of falling foul of those who worked for the person called a 'death god', whatever that really was. The sisters had had no such fears, figuring that their kind of crime wasn't the kind that got you tracked down by that bunch of weirdos. Or so Patti had thought, at least.

"That school? That Shinigami place? Us?"

"Yes. 'Yes' to all of those questions." All uncertainty had faded from the boy now that he'd said what he had in mind, but Liz's was only just beginning;

"What do you want with us?"

"You are Weapons, I am capable of wielding you, and I believe we could work well together."

"Because we look the same." Liz concluded, having latched onto what seemed to be the boy's motivation for this bizarre idea. She received a firm nod in return.

An uncomfortable silence followed, broken first by Patti beginning to doodle on the wall in white chalk. Liz looked to her sister, and back at the boy who had requested something that she never in her life would have considered. But asked it he had, and he seemed sincere. Behind that twitchy need for order, he seemed a decent enough boy, insofar as Liz considered herself to be a judge of good character. The fact he hadn't attacked, robbed, or arrested them was also very much in his favour. Hadn't Liz said only days before that she wanted to leave Brooklyn, hadn't she wished in a moment of optimism for something better, or at least different for herself and Patti? Well, Shibusen would certainly be one of the two. And if she was seriously going to consider this, then she had to work out some facts. Even if this boy was telling the truth, it didn't mean he wasn't a threat;

"Right. We get why you're here," she looked to Patti for confirmation, and got a nod, "but _who_ are you?"

"My name is Death the Kid."

"Seriously?" Patti sputtered with laughter at this. The kid called...Kid nodded at her, and Liz decided that this was not the first time someone had reacted to his name like that. No wonder.

"I am a death god, and my father is the Shinigami."

It took a moment for Liz to process this, because she had assumed that there was just the one 'Shinigami', because they - or him, as it turned out – were Death. Was Death. Or something. Whatever they were, you saw the trademark skulls everywhere.

Kid took their moment of confusion to earnestly continue his suggestion;

"Father's school trains Weapons and those who wield them – meisters – to confront and remove the threat of kishin from this world."

"O-kay," Liz raised her eyebrows at what Kid thought had been a concise and neat explanation "and what are 'kishin' exactly?"

"They have various names, and are 'demon gods', creatures who have, through numerous acts or thoughts become slaves to chaotic and violent desires which they act out recklessly upon normal humans. Naturally, father does not believe they should be allowed to exist, and so Shibusen serves as a way of controlling them."

The Thompson sisters exchanged a glance. The truth was that they had heard of these kishin things before, being one of the many urban rumours that filtered through the city. But until now it had remained just a myth to them. The short explanation of Death the Kid did not enlighten them all that much;

"If we say yes, what do we get?" Patti asked to Liz's surprise, having not thought her sister was really paying attention.

"From what I have gathered, you two have the potential to be most proficient Weapons, even my very first Death Scythes. Alongside that, my father's city is a large one. I feel it will be more than sufficient to meet your needs, far more so certainly than your current circumstances." He waved a hand out to the dim room with its peeling paint and cracked ceiling. It was the only one in the house still remotely habitable, but Liz hardly appreciated the observation.

"Not exactly diplomatic, are you?" She snapped at this brutal honesty, though her ears had pricked up at the mention of his father's city; he didn't just dress like a rich kid.

"Your sister asked what you would get for joining me, and I answered."

Wanting now to punch Death the Kid in the face, Liz instead grabbed Patti by the elbow and led her from the room and into the alleyway – she had a hunch the kid had good hearing.

There was no hiding Liz's frustration from her sister. Had she just wanted to be rid of this boy who called himself Death, she would have said so, would have tossed him out at gunpoint. She would not have been fiddling with her hair, her nails, and casting looks of annoyance and some curiosity towards Kid. Patti grinned widely, practically bouncing up and down in anticipation;

"You wanna agree, don't ya? You wanna go with him!?"

"I think it might be worth a try...Maybe."

"Maybe. Maybe it'll get us killed quicker than staying here would. Maybe he's lying and he just wants to eat our souls. Though, I reckon if he wanted our souls he'd of taken 'em by now!" Patti mused pragmatically with her head on one side.

"Pat-ti..." Liz whined, wringing her hands together in anguish, clearly torn between a rock and a possibly hard place. Patti chewed on one fingernail for a moment. This wouldn't do, really. Big sis was fun to tease when she got upset, but not when she got _this_ upset.

"Know what, sis?"

"Eh?"

"I know you'll do the right thing. And whatever you wanna do, is right with me!"

Liz hugged Patti for a moment, wondering just why the girl seemed to trust her so much after what they'd gone through, what Liz had managed to _put_ them through. But they'd never got anywhere without taking chances, even when opportunities jumped up at them out of nowhere. And that realisation, in the end, made up Liz's mind for her.

---

Liz needed it to rain. Even in a vest and shorts, she was still baking hot. And pretty sure she was already getting sunburnt to a crisp. Grinning down and laughing at her, the sun didn't seem to care a bit. Patti, on the other hand, was ignoring the stifling heat, careering around from one side of the road to the other to see "what's there!" And then there was Death the Kid, walking along with careless confidence as though he owned the place. He practically did, as Liz had found out in the hours it had taken to travel from New York to this city in the middle of nowhere. Kid _said_ they were still in Nevada, but Liz was yet to be convinced.

She had been right to notice that Kid had called this place his father's city. This Shinigami seemed to be the mayor of the place, in a sense, but from what his son had said there were branches of his school all around the world. Liz had been told that the city had the kind of places and organisations you got everywhere else; schools, hospitals, a police force, but that much of daily life revolved around the work of Shibusen, to which most of the citizens were connected on one way or another. Liz had remembered this much only because Kid (she had called him 'Death' once, but this had resulted in Kid raising an eyebrow, as though puzzled, and Liz switching back to 'Kid', which seemed to be acceptable) had repeated it several times on the flight and following train journey into the city. She knew he'd said an awful lot more, but her brain had switched off by that point.

Now they were actually in Death City, which wasn't even half the drab and, well, deathly place Liz had imagined it would be, Kid had finally fallen quiet. Instead he led his new would-be Weapons through the streets almost in silence, only occasionally pointing out the symmetry of one ornament (which tended to be skull-shaped), piece of architecture (also involving skulls) or in one weird case, a small tree.

Having spent the walk sweating and trying to keep track of where they were going, Liz was about to ask why they seemed to be going left and then right in turn, when they finally reached their destination. Kid had said they were heading to his house; it was a mansion. Beyond the gates Liz could see that a garden stretched around the 'house' on either side. The front door alone was massive, and as they approached it Liz half-feared it would open on its own like in horror movies. Kid just produced a large key from a pocket and inserted it in the door. When he pushed it open, it did Liz's nerves no good at all to hear it creak ominously. Kid squinted at the hinges disapprovingly.

"I should oil that." He muttered, but Liz was in no mood to see him get distracted for the billionth time since meeting him.

"Not yet!" She commanded, "We're here to see your father, right?"

With some difficulty Kid's eyes slid from the door-frame to the entrance hall they were in. His fingers actually twitched with the effort of not seeing to this new irregularity straight away. Liz did not stare this time, being too worried about what, or who, lay ahead.

She was too bothered to pay much attention to the house's black and white décor, or the odd splashes of colour from a painting or a photograph. When they finally reached a study with a large desk in the centre and walls full of bookcases, Liz wasn't sure whether it had taken them minutes or an hour.

Black and white reigned in here too, except for some of the furniture and the books on the shelves. Liz's gaze was drawn past the desk to a large mirror that stood at the end of the room. It was at least eight feet tall and like much in the house and the city sported a simple skull motif at the top. It was almost cute, except that it was a _skull_ and so excluded from being 'cute' by everyone who didn't have Death in their name. And even then Liz had trouble imaging this uptight child god deeming anything to be 'cute'.

A few minutes passed, in which a clock ticked and Patti tried to climb to the top of the ladders against the bookshelves, until Liz hissed at her to get down. She didn't know what they were waiting for, but knew it was something. Something moved in the mirror. It had reflected the three figures and the desk behind them, but now its surface had become a dull grey colour which shifted as though the glass had come alive. A new figure emerged from this sifting darkness, tall, lean and...pointy? Liz was not sure to start with until this whatever-it-was was properly in the room.

"Well, now. You'd be the Thompsons, yes?"

Liz blinked. She'd definitely heard a voice, and it didn't belong to Kid. She could most certainly see the person (she wasn't quite sure of that yet) in front of her, but where a face should be they had just a skull-shaped mask. And no limbs to speak of, now that she looked properly, just an angular mass of black that narrowed down into a point on the floor.

"Yeah, that's us! I'm Patti, nice to meet ya!"

To Liz's amazed horror, Patti skipped up to this black-and-white sketch and held out a hand. Out of nowhere, a hand appeared one one of the black points that had suddenly lengthened into an arm. It was massive, white, and put Liz in mind of those foam fingers people used at baseball games and the like. But Patti took the hand without a second thought, shaking it vigorously.

"Nice to meet you too, Patti! I'm Shinigami." There was that voice again, strident and jolly while managing to push its way into Liz's head and her attention whether she wanted it to or not.

"Kid tells me he wants you two to be his Weapons. I have to say I'm very excited." Liz jumped as the one called Shinigami clapped his hands.

"Yes, yes, _most_ excited. I've told Kid lots of times, you know, that he doesn't have to think about being a meister if he doesn't want too. But really," and here Shinigami leant over to Liz whispering with one hand by his mask "I've been looking forward to this." And he nodded, patting Liz on the head with one massive hand. It wasn't until then that Liz could bring herself to look at his mask. Doing so, she tried and failed to not look too closely at the eye-holes. They were as black as the rest of Shinigami, and Liz could not help but stare. Behind her, Kid cleared his throat rather obviously;

"Father, I've discussed with Elizabeth and Patricia what being my Weapons will involve. I hope that we will be successful."

Shinigami shook his head, unimpressed.

"You know Kid, you needn't sound so _formal_ about it."

"Well, it is an important decision." Kid insisted quite accurately but, Shinigami felt, rather missing the point. So, he tried again;

"True, but have you even show these two ladies round the house? Shown them their rooms, maybe?"

Kid looked from the sisters to his father, "No. We were waiting for you-"

"Honestly, what kind of a host _is_ he?" Shinigami said to Liz, eagerly nudging her and Patti towards the study door.

"Come on, come on you two! We can't expect you to live here and not have space to yourselves. We have quite a _lot_ of space, as you will see..."

If Liz had not lost track of time by that point, she soon did so as her bizarre and eager host showed off every inch of his house. Patti tried every door they passed, and chatted to Shinigami wanting to know where she'd sleep and what the garden was like. This left Liz being swept along feeling rather shell-shocked. So, she noticed with surprise, was Kid. The boy lingered behind the tour looking rather left out. Liz fell into step beside him as he spoke;

"I'm sorry. He always does this for new people when he's at home."

"Don't worry about it." Liz shrugged. It didn't bother her; she had held dreadful suspicions of this meeting, so having merely an enthusiastic tour-guide did not faze her in the slightest. She still wasn't comfortable with the whole scenario, but it was practically heavenly when compared to recent months in the life of the Thompson sisters. Or years before that, for that matter. "I get the idea," she began as Shinigami beckoned them round yet another corner, "that he's like this _all_ the time, yeah?"

Her would-be meister sighed and folded his arms "Almost always. He likes people. He doesn't just deal with them, he actually _likes_ them. He-"

Kid stopped short, annoyed at finding himself ranting, and to a stranger at that. What was more, Patti and his father had turned to look at him, the first with a grin, the second searchingly as though he'd over-heard his son's comments. Kid did not doubt that he had.

"And _this _one, Patti, just thinks everything needs to be precise and perfect." Shinigami nodded to the girl, evidently having been in the middle of another conversation. As though taking a cue to demonstrate his father's point, without even breaking his stride Kid reached out to a picture on the wall and nudged it straight. Liz put her head in her hands; if 'kishin' were half as annoying this kid, they'd be _no_ trouble.


End file.
